Calla stood perfectly still near the healing ward's entrance, her eyes fixed on the silver-haired boy who'd burst in like a small storm.
Her expression remained neutral—pleasant, even—but something cold flickered behind her spectacles.
"Who is this boy? Why is he here? How did he even know to come?"
The questions stacked themselves in her mind with clinical precision.
Vael hovered at Violet's bedside, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His grey eyes were wide with worry, darting between Violet's pale face and the glowing hands of the healing mage still working.
Violet lay motionless on the bed, caught in the strange space between consciousness and unconsciousness.
Her body felt wrong—like she was submerged in water.
Heavy and floating.
Every thought took effort to form, every sensation dulled and distant.
She could hear voices. Feel the bed beneath her. Sense Vael's presence nearby.
But it all came through layers of fog.
Calla turned her attention from the boy to Violet, her voice dropping to that particular tone of gentle concern she'd perfected over years.
"Do you know him, Littlebird?"
The question landed soft but weighted.
Violet's mind struggled through the haze. Her thoughts moved like honey in winter—slow, thick, barely flowing.
Answer. Need to answer. But what—
"I'm her friend!" Vael blurted out before Violet could form words.
Panic spiked through Violet's sluggish consciousness.
No. Don't. Don't say anything.
Her mind raced despite the fog pressing down on it.
What if Calla asks who he is? What will he answer? Beastkin? What if she asks where he came from? He's too naive—he might reveal everything. The camp. The refugees. Papa's involvement.
If she connects the dots—
Everything I've done. Everything I've sacrificed. It will all be destroyed in one careless sentence.
The healing mage finally stepped back, the green glow fading from her hands. "She's stable.
The immediate danger has passed." She looked at Calla. "But she needs rest. Absolute rest. No excitement. No stress."
"Of course," Calla said smoothly. "Whatever she needs."
The mage moved away to speak with the old woman in low tones, leaving space around the bed.
Violet's vision cleared slightly. The fog receded just enough for her to focus.
She turned her head—the movement taking monumental effort—and looked at Vael.
Relief flooded through her with such intensity it almost made her dizzy.
His ears and tail were gone. Hidden. Glamoured away by magic she knew he shouldn't have learned yet.
A disguising spell. He's using a disguising spell.
In her first life, he hadn't learned that particular magic until much later—years from now, taught by necessity when traveling through human territories became dangerous.
But here he stood, the spell holding perfectly. Looking like any other human boy with silver hair and grey eyes.
"Thank God," Violet breathed, the words barely audible.
She shifted her gaze to Calla, forcing her lips into a small, tired smile.
"He's my friend." Her voice came out hoarse but steady enough. "Moved here a few months ago."
Vael's nose twitched slightly. His enhanced senses caught the lie immediately—the subtle change in her heartbeat, the particular scent that came with deception.
He turned to Violet, mouth opening to correct her—
Their eyes met.
What he saw there stopped him cold.
Violet's violet eyes—usually warm when looking at him—had gone hard as winter ice. Sharp. Dangerous.
The message written in them was crystal clear:
You're already deep in trouble. One wrong word and you'll see a living hell.
A shiver ran down Vael's spine like ice water.
He'd seen that look before. On warriors before battle. On his father before making impossible choices.
It was the look of someone who would do absolutely anything to protect what mattered.
And right now, what mattered was keeping Calla from learning the truth.
"Ye-yeah," Vael stammered, forcing his voice to sound uncertain and young. "I just moved here about a month ago. With my—my uncle. He's a good guy."
He swallowed hard, the lie tasting strange on his tongue.
"I came to town to—to buy something. Supplies. For home."
Calla's head tilted slightly. Her smile remained pleasant, but her eyes had sharpened behind the spectacles.
"I never asked why you were in town," she said quietly.
The words hung in the air like a knife suspended by thread.
Vael's throat bobbed. His hands clenched tighter.
Mistake. That was a mistake.
Calla took a step closer to the bed. Her movements were slow, deliberate—a predator deciding whether its prey was worth the chase.
"What a coincidence," she continued, voice still perfectly gentle, "that you happened to be passing by at exactly the moment Violet collapsed. What remarkable timing."
She stopped at the foot of the bed, hands folded gracefully before her.
"And you said you felt something wrong?" Her eyebrow arched slightly. "That's quite a strong connection for friends who've only known each other a month."
Violet's mind scrambled despite the lingering fog.
She's suspicious. She's piecing things together. I need to—
"Papa is training him," Violet forced out. Her voice was still weak, but clearer now. "Papa's been teaching him. Hunting, tracking and fighting" She managed a small smile. "Vael's better at it than I am. He probably noticed I wasn't where I was supposed to be and came looking."
The lie flowed more smoothly this time, built on fragments of truth.
Vael caught on immediately. "Yeah. Harrett—I mean, Garrett, I mean Violet's father—he's been teaching me. I was supposed to meet Violet later to practice tracking, but when I came into town and she wasn't at the meeting spot..." He let his voice trail off, looking appropriately worried.
Calla's eyes moved between them. Calculating. Measuring.
The silence stretched for three heartbeats.
Then she smiled—warm and understanding.
"How wonderful that Violet has made such a good friend." She moved closer to Vael, placing a hand on his shoulder with gentle pressure. "And how fortunate that you were nearby when she needed help."
Her fingers tightened just slightly.
"Though I must say, running into a healing ward and causing such a commotion..." Her tone remained light, but something underneath had gone cold. "You scared the poor healers half to death. Perhaps next time, announce yourself more calmly?"
It wasn't a suggestion.
Vael nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry. I just—I was worried."
"Of course you were." Calla's hand released his shoulder. "That speaks well of your character."
She turned back to Violet, her expression shifting to maternal concern once more.
"But I think you should rest now, little bird. You've had quite an ordeal." Her gaze flickered to Vael. "And your friend should probably return home before his uncle worries."
Dismissal wrapped in kindness.
Vael looked at Violet. She gave him the tiniest nod.
"I'll—I'll come check on you later," Vael said. "When you're feeling better."
"Thank you," Violet whispered.
He backed away from the bed, still watching her with worried eyes, then turned and left the healing ward with careful, measured steps.
The door closed behind him.
Calla waited exactly three seconds before speaking.
"That boy," she said quietly, not looking at Violet. "Where did you really meet him?